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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27717899">as long as we both shall live</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/givebackmylifecas/pseuds/givebackmylifecas'>givebackmylifecas</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Established Relationship, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Non-Canonical Character Death, Season/Series 02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 16:14:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,476</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27717899</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/givebackmylifecas/pseuds/givebackmylifecas</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Professor, Palermo is staying here. We’ll send Helsinki and Nairobi down the tunnel now,” Andrés says into the headset<br/>Martín turns and faces Nairobi and Helsinki. Nairobi looks shocked and angry, but Helsinki… there’s understanding in his eyes.<br/>“Helsinki,” Martín says. “Take Nairobi and go. Berlin and I will hold off the police.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>66</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>as long as we both shall live</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>don't @ me, i'm depressed</p><p>please read the tags for TWs!!</p><p>fic title from the song "cherish" by kool and the gang</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sergio sounds confused. Martín can hear his voice, even if he can’t make out the words. Andrés’ face twitches, as he listens to the words pouring from the earpiece. Martín wonders what Sergio is saying to him.</p><p>It’s probably some variation of what Martín told Andrés before they went into the Mint, when Andrés made it clear he wouldn’t be leaving.</p><p>“Feet first, is the only way I’ll get out of there,” he had said, a damnable smirk on his face.</p><p>Martín had argued at first – of course he did – but there wasn’t anything he’d ever been able to deny Andrés. Grass is green, birds fly, the sea returns to the shore, and Andrés de Fonollosa always gets what he wants.</p><p>“It’s okay, Sergio,” Andrés is saying. “I’m sending Nairobi, Helsinki, and Palermo your way.”</p><p>Nairobi says something, steps towards Andrés, but Martín pushes her out of the way.</p><p>“Andrés,” he says. “I’m staying.”</p><p>Andrés’ gaze meets his. “Why?”</p><p>Martín almost laughs. “You know why.”</p><p>There’s a nod and then Andrés is speaking into his headset again. “Professor, Palermo is staying here. We’ll send Helsinki and Nairobi down the tunnel now.”</p><p>Martín turns and faces Nairobi and Helsinki. Nairobi looks shocked and angry, but Helsinki… there’s understanding in his eyes.</p><p>“Helsinki,” Martín says. “Take Nairobi and go. Berlin and I will hold off the police.”</p><p>“Are you crazy?” Nairobi spits, shaking off the hand Helsinki puts on her shoulder. “You don’t have to stay! If we leave now, we can all make it.”</p><p>He feels Andrés step up beside him, shoulder brushing his.</p><p>“Nairobi, go! That’s an order!” Andrés says. “Someone has to make sure you aren’t followed.”</p><p> “If they enter the tunnel, we’re all dead,” Martín insists.</p><p>Nairobi shakes her head, looking between the two of them. “What are you two doing?”</p><p>Andrés exchanges a look with Martín. “Someone has to stay in the trench.”</p><p>“No!”</p><p>“Yes,” Andrés insists. “They’re hot on our heels.”</p><p>“We’re all leaving together!” Nairobi says and Martín always liked her bravery as she steps into Andrés’ space.</p><p>“You said I was a sexist, right?” Andrés asks and Nairobi stares at him incredulously. “Well then,” he says. “Women and gays first.”</p><p>Nairobi slaps him and Martín feels it as if it’s his own face she hit. True to form, Andrés just smirks as Helsinki grabs her and drags her towards the tunnel, spitting like a feral cat.</p><p>The sounds of her fighting him fade away and Andrés turns to face Martín.</p><p>“There’s still time, you can leave, mi amor.”</p><p>It’s the most he’s acknowledged their relationship since the morning they left Toledo. Martín has never hated anyone quite so passionately as the man he loves more than his own life.</p><p>“You’re an idiot,” he tells Andrés. “You promised me six months, I’m taking every second of them.”</p><p>The smile on Andrés’ face flickers minutely, betraying his worry – despite what he gang say behind his back, he was never that hard to read, not to Martín.</p><p>“You have more than six months though,” he says and Martín shrugs, blinking away the wetness in his eyes.</p><p>“Not much point if they’re without you, though.”</p><p>“Martín –“</p><p>“Andrés, you made your decision and I respected it – can you do the same for me?”</p><p>There’s a moment of hesitation, Andrés wants to argue, Martín can feel it. After seconds that drag on for eternities, he nods, hands Martín a gun.</p><p>“Let’s go then.”</p><p>There’s a moment of silence as they crouch behind the Browning, leaning against the sandbags and all Martín can hear is Andrés’ slightly laboured breathing. He wonders if even that is too much indignity for him, to have his lungs audibly betraying him the way the rest of his body soon will, if it hasn’t already.</p><p>There are footsteps on the stairs, heavy, multiple pairs of boots. Martín’s heart is racing, pounding so hard it might crack a rib. Not that it would matter now.</p><p>“Martín?” Andrés’ voice seems almost too loud in the near silence.</p><p>Martín turns to look at him, Andrés’ face seems sallow in the poorly illuminated hallway. He’d always thought Andrés looked best in the warm sun of late spring, under pale moonlight on washed-out tropical beaches, patterned by coloured panels of stained glass windows.</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>Martín has always loved how Andrés can express so much with so little. He’s all big speeches and huge gestures when it doesn’t matter, but when it comes to it, Andrés is a man of few words.</p><p>“Are you sure?”</p><p>His eyebrows are pulled together, eyes wide, there’s a tremor in his bottom lip. Martín idly tries to recall when Andrés last took a dose of Retroxil.</p><p>“Are you?” he counters, because he’d run right now if Andrés asked him.</p><p>The corner of Andrés’ left eye crinkles. “I can’t live like that, just waiting to deteriorate.”</p><p>“I know,” Martín reassures him. “I’m not leaving.”</p><p>“I love you.”</p><p>It’s not the first time Andrés has said it. It might be the last. Martín drops the ammo he’s holding and kisses him, desperately, ruthlessly, selfishly, with everything he has. Andrés’ hands shake on the back of his neck, his waist.</p><p>When they pull apart, the footsteps are closer. Martín hands Andrés the extra ammunition belt and gets into position. He aims and fires.</p><p>Time dissolves into the deafening echo of bullets ricocheting off the walls, casings dropping to the floor, and the muzzle flashes from return fire.  Through it all, Andrés’ body is pressed against his, handing him more ammo, directing his fire. Martín hears him talking but can’t shape the sounds into words.</p><p>Andrés’ face appears before his. “We’re out of ammo.”</p><p>And Martín is being dragged back, around the corner, Andrés’ hand on his elbow, rifle in his hands. Andrés lobs a grenade and they’re ducking into a vault to take cover. Martín throws himself on top of him, takes the opportunity to kiss him again. He tastes like gunpowder and steel and blood and Martín despairs of how much he loves him.</p><p>Then they’re on their feet again, assault rifles in hand, storming back into the corridor. Andrés’ hand on the back of his neck drags Martín down behind the barricade, bullets flying over their heads.</p><p>“I’m a bit busy,” Andrés says and Martín wonders if he’s lost his mind. “Sergio, I’m staying!”</p><p>Martín feels a strange wave of relief as he makes the connection between Andrés’ words and the earpiece. They simultaneously rise up over the barricade and return fire. The police have bullet proof shields.</p><p>Martín swears and Andrés flashes him a grin.</p><p>“They’re on us, it’s too late. Leave now!” he hears Andrés order and then they’re firing again and it’s so dark, Martín doesn’t even know what he’s aiming at or whether it even matters anymore.</p><p>“Reload!” Martín yells and they replace the clips.</p><p>Andrés slumps back against the wall. “Decline is not for me,” he explains to his brother. Martín can imagine Sergio’s panic. “Could you imagine me drooling or losing control of my bladder? No. It takes courage for that. I prefer this.”</p><p>Martín leans out and fires, trying to conserve bullets, to postpone the end. He misses what Andrés says next, ears ringing.</p><p>“Helsinki, that’s an order! Soldier, blow the tunnel!” Andrés yells beside him as bullets go whistling so close over their heads that Martín thinks he might have lost some hair.</p><p>“Andrés,” he calls, though he has no idea what he’s asking for.</p><p>He thinks he might be scared. A hand reaches for his and Andrés’ fingers clamp around Martín's.</p><p>“I love you so much little brother, don’t forget that,” Andrés says and tears the headset from his ear.</p><p>Martín swallows. His mouth is dry, filled with dust and grit from the pockmarked concrete walls and exploded sandbags. He wonders what he’d taste like if Andrés kissed him now.</p><p>“Martín, mi vida,” Andrés says and Martín raises his eyes to meet his. “I’ve spent my life being a bit of an arsehole. But I want to die with dignity.”</p><p>It’s a statement, but it sounds like a question, like he’s asking for permission. His eyes are wet. Andrés doesn’t cry, it’s enough that the tears are there.</p><p>“I know, mi amor,” Martín chokes out, his voice unsteady. “I love you too.”</p><p>The tension bleeds from Andrés’ shoulders, he almost smiles. His hand is still clasped in Martín’s as they scramble to their feet, stepping forward, past the barricade. Martín fires wildly, Andrés doing the same beside him.</p><p>There’s a responding attack from the police, but Martín hardly notices. His entire world has narrowed down to Andrés’ fingers in his. He would know those hands blind and deaf, every tiny scar on his fingers, every hair on his knuckles, every line on Andrés’ palm.</p><p>He won’t let go, can’t let go, didn’t let go.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>idek, drop a kudos/comment or scream at me on tumblr (<a href="https://hefellfordean.tumblr.com">@hefellfordean</a>) or twitter (<a href="https://twitter.com/angstypalermo">@angstypalermo</a>)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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